Memories of a Descent
by rookanga
Summary: Berwald was living in a blissful state until, with four words, he shattered. SuFin


**Hello. Rookanga here. I leave my home country for an extended period of time in less than two weeks, so this will probably be the last thing I post here for a while.**

**I'm putting the AN on the top so as not to ruin the effect of the fic.**

**Please ignore terrible metaphor.**

**Reviews are always appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia-Axis Powers (c) Hidekaz Himaruya**

There is a moment, right before a glass crashes to the ground, spilling little pieces of itself all over the floor, when it falls, and for a hundredth of a second, everything is so beautiful and perfect and it's in flight and then CRASH, it becomes an unfixable object, a danger to those around it.

This moment, to Berwald, was when he got married to his best friend and the love of his life, Tino. The wedding was beautiful. Perhaps it was less so on the actual day, and perhaps the memories of the experience had been bolstered by time and age and ruin, but Berwald would always remember it as beautiful.

By the gentle sounds of the sea, Berwald Oxenstierna spoke his vows to Tino Vainamoinen and had them repeated to him. Even Mathias failed to irritate the Swede that day, and as dusk came, he and Tino kissed, the setting sun shining its weak Swedish presence behind them, soft yellow light framing their heads as if they wore matching halos.

He looked so lovely that night, Berwald would recount later, after, when he was drunk.

If the wedding was that one ethereal moment when the glass tips from its safe position, Berwald surely missed the ground coming increasingly closer over those two years until he finally met the floor. It was a Tuesday, Berwald can remember, because if the wedding had become twisted into something better than it was, this was the one event Berwald could trust his memories to keep true. There was nothing to make worse. It was already the worst thing that could have happened.

Ever since marriage, coming home from work had come with the best feeling in the world, a feeling that was somewhere between a racing euphoria and a quiet bliss. The end of being at work meant the beginning of being with Tino. That Tuesday had been no exception. Berwald entered the house he shared with Tino with something near a smile on his face, expecting to see his beloved approach with a similar smile, already home from his own job, as it always was. Instead, Tino was sitting on the couch, an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his face, staring down at his hands. Berwald said nothing, but Tino spoke. "I'm not happy, Berwald."

And the glass hits the ground, taking Berwald Oxenstierna with it.

Somehow he managed to have a rational conversation with Tino, albeit a rather one-sided one. Tino, as it turned out, had never felt the same love for the Swede as he had felt for the Finn. Berwald heard this, and registered this, and realized that the perfect wedding is a lie. It was only perfect for one of the pair.

Still, though, over the years, Berwald is unable to let go of his beautiful wedding fantasy. It was beautiful, he comes to realize, though he doesn't care to think about how the memories have been warped. He's trying to prevent that from happening by thinking about how it was, not how Tino was; he doesn't realize how much more perfect he's making it by doing that; he doesn't see how much more the imagined beauty of the day is hurting him than the imagined horror.

It was really a wonder that he and Tino had managed to discuss anything that day when he shattered, what with Tino in a distractedly sympathetic hyperactive state and Berwald barely able to compute what was happening in front of him.

"Um, I think I should get out as soon as possible," Tino said. "It would only be harder for you, having me here any longer."

"Mm," Berwald mumbled, in what was either agreement or the only sound Berwald could make. Tino took it as the former.

"I've already packed," Tino whispered. "I have friends that I can stay with, you know? Until I can get my own place."

"Mm," repeated Berwald.

"Okay, well," said Tino, his voice trailing off. He put a hand on the arm of the one who loves him, a gesture of goodwill, maybe. Berwald made no noise, but inside he was asking in screams why why WHY. He's still waiting for the answer.

Berwald is no more than a glass that fell, and that shattered, to become an irreparable mess of broken shards. Because his love looked so lovely that night.


End file.
